Farewell, Mockingbird
by J Wombat
Summary: Tristan's fleeting exchange with his lover. A parting of such sweet, unadulterated sorrow. Unnamed OC. NEWLY REViSED, and oh so saccharine. Reviews are greatly appreciated possible sequel soon with enough feedback.


Summary: Tristan bids farewell. (Unnamed OC)

Disclaimer: I own nothing... How queer.

A/N: Short little one-shot between Tristan and his lover, a parting of such sweet sorrow. Unnamed OC, feel free to do with it as you please.

Reviews are _much _appreciated. Let me know what you think.

I feel like I kind of left off with the beginning of this, no explanations or anything... some people like it, some don't. Again, let me know... I live to serve.

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She had come to bid him farewell. Nothing more.

She had only planned to stay long enough to say her goodbye, and then she would be off, riding into the black night overlooked by the stars. She would never once glance back.

She found him in a secluded clearing -his own small fire providing a dim and insufficient light- lying on his back in the lush grass, hands locked behind his head, gazing up into the sky through the only grand opening in the trees.

She walked as quietly as she could, trying not to disturb him - she was sure he could not see her.

"Why have you come?" he asked, his voice low in his accent. If she was startled, she did not show it, but continued to walk towards him until she stood no more than a foot away from his body. He kept his gaze to the sky.

"You know why I come," she replied. She looked down at him, her hair falling forwards in a cascade of black curls, and she tried to tuck them behind her ear, without luck. He was so mysterious, and he intrigued her in so many ways. He showed no emotions, and gave no visible compassion to any other person, and yet he took care of his horse as if it was his first born son, and he had such love for his hawk - his best friend. He confided in them and trusted them and took care of them, and in return they were loyal and obedient. He was not just a silent killer -as they all called him - but human. Simply human.

"You come to say goodbye."

"I do." Yet again she was amazed at how he could read her so easily when she thought she was protected from everyone. He made her feel almost naked, as if her emotions were uncovered and exposed to the bitter cold of the world. She shivered subconsciously.

"Why?" He was still gazing at the sky.

"It is not my place here -amongst you knights- burdening you while you fight for you lives and for your freedom."

"And where shall you go?"

"Away. Far away; where I too can be free."

"What of the others?"

She knew of what he spoke. He spoke of the knights. He was asking if she would bid them farewell, too. She wouldn't. It would be a heart-wrenching scene for her, and they would somehow convince her to stay. She did not want to impose; getting in the way while they fought to stay alive. She was just one more person to feed and look out for.

"I cannot say goodbye to them. They would make me stay."

"Evil woman," he joked, keeping his face straight. She laughed. Music to his ears. Her laughter was soft, melodic, and soothing, like the call of a mockingbird.

She smiled -ah, her smile- and said, "I can't help it."

"They will miss you."

At this time, he turned his gaze to her. His smoldering dark eyes melted into her own brown eyes, and literally brought her to her knees. She knelt beside him and he sat up, his eyes never once straying from hers. She felt as if he was looking through her, into her mind and very soul - something so untouched that she had come to believe that hers had not existed. His gaze warmed her core, and she felt as if she would just melt. How was it that he did this to her? Her mind was swarming with things to say, but one question lingered out; she had to know.

"Will _you_ miss me?"

He averted his stare to the sky, and let out a deep breath, watching as it became visible in the cool night air. He sat this way for a few minutes. It seemed as if he forgot the question. She moved closer, thinking he had not heard her.

"Tristan?" she asked. His head snapped down, their faces mere inches apart, eyes locked, breath mingling. He was so close, and she longed to reach out and touch his face, to trace his high cheekbones and the markings on them, brush his hair out of his face to gaze deeply into his eyes. But she did not dare.

"Will you miss me?" she asked again.

Tristan took the time to gaze at her. She was beautiful, and so within his reach that he could almost count her many eyelashes. Her parted lips were slightly pink from the cold, and so were her cheeks - though it did not show as well for her olive skin. She was a goddess; all over were womanly curves and healthy muscles, she was strong yet fragile, a warrior and yet so feminine, she would kill as soon as look, but her love for nature betrayed her softer side. How did she believe she was intruding, when she could practically best one of their knights with a bow? Her broadsword was not nearly as good, but she would improve with practice; her battle with a slim blade turned into a deadly dance of silver, whirling with a grace unknown. How could she leave, when she was the only one who understood him, even if in the slightest bit? This was the last time he would see her.

His actions were impulsive, beyond his control and better judgment. Tristan leaned forward, ever so slightly, and let his lips brush against her own, a simple and sweet caress - only a small taste. He became bolder as she captured his bottom lip, sucking gently, and he placed his hand behind her head and tilted her face up toward him. He took control when he let his tongue glide over her lips, pausing for her permission, entering her mouth when she complied, teasing her tongue with his own, and memorizing every curve of her mouth, while simultaneously feeling her hair, neck and shoulders, burning the lines of her body into his mind forever. Onto her skin he also left a fiery trail, that left her eager for his touch, and short of breath.

His lips left her mouth to trace the smooth line of her jaw and the delicate curve of her ear, where she sighed softly and whispered his name. Into the tender spot below her ear Tristan murmured gently, "Aye, I will miss you."

She smiled and pulled away to look into his eyes, and then found herself admiring his features. She did then what she had so longed to do: she reached out with her fingers and brushed them across his cheeks, gliding over his tattoos as if she were trying to decipher their meaning. Her touch strayed from his cheeks as they traced his jaw line, and Tristan closed his eyes, taking pleasure in the feeling of her calloused fingertips dancing across his face. He grabbed her wrists and opened his eyes, then gently -lovingly- places a small kiss on each of her palms. "Stay with me," he said, his voice low and deep in his throat. His eyes pleaded. "Please." She did not answer, but merely looked into his eyes and tried not to cry. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently. "Please... Don't go." He then felt a small drop of moisture against his chin, and when he pulled away he saw the trail of a tear on her cheek. He released her wrists and cupped her face, kissing her cheek where the tear was shed. When she had regained herself, she continued her explorations. She ran her fingers over scars across his cheeks and forehead, brushing his hair away in the process. He began to open his eyes, but she shook her head and closed his eyes, pressing her thumbs gently on his eyelids. The warmth suddenly left his face as she removed her hands, but he felt her silent wish to keep his eyes closed. A single tear slid down from her eye and she made no move to wipe it away. She only sat there, gazing at his face for the final time, burning every last detail into her mind - except his eyes; she could not bear to look into his eyes at this moment. But she would never forget their penetrating gaze.

And the time came. She placed a warm, soft -and wet from tears- kiss on his cheek and spoke so softly that he wasn't sure he heard it.

"I love you."

A soft, chill wind came, whipping Tristan's hair and clothes about him, and he quickly opened his eyes – but she was no longer there.

There was no sound that night, save the whistle of the wind through the trees and grass.

Tristan awoke the next morning -just as the sun was beginning to rise- to a cold east wind. He shivered and noticed that his small fire had been extinguished, most likely from the night wind or the thin blanket of snow that covered the ground. Memories of the previous night came rushing to him - the night she left. It was so sudden and unexpected that it was hardly believable. Tristan himself didn't believe it. He had to be sure. He crept as fast as he could without making a sound, to the wagon that housed the woad girl, the small boy, and the Roman's wife. He peeked inside; they all slept peacefully, their bodies moving in the synchronized rhythm of breathing. She was not there; her departure was real.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath. He followed this with a stream of foreign and very inappropriate curses.

He turned to face the wind, hair blowing away from his face. He gazed out onto the horizon, as if searching the white-covered trees for her.

The sun was rising slowly, and the others were still asleep, so to drown out his thoughts, Tristan decided he would do some scouting... It couldn't hurt.

He saddled his horse, and rode towards the sun, running with the wind. He stopped when the wind did - at the edge of the forest. He led his horse out into the field, eyes and ears alert. Tristan dismounted and held the reins in one hand, the fingers on his other hand lightly drumming on the hilt of his sword. He stood there for what seemed like hours, the snow falling peacefully, landing in his hair, on his clothes, and in his face when he occasionally gazed to the sky.

Suddenly, a harsh wind blew from the west, sending the snow spiraling around Tristan, caressing his body and face; the wind was surprisingly warm. Startled, Tristan pulled his sword from its sheath, the early morning sun glinting of the curved Eastern blade.

The wind felt like fingertips, feeling his face, touching his lips, tangling in his hair and pressing his eyes shut. It was a feeling so familiar, and he loved it; it was as if he could relive his last night with Her.

There was a faint whisper on the breeze, so soft and gentle, and he recognized it immediately, and for a moment believed his ears were deceiving him.

"I love you." And as suddenly as the wind had started, it stopped.

Tristan's eyes snapped open, and he spun around, searching for Her. He was sure it was Her - her voice had been permeated into his mind the night before. He strained his eyes -ears, anything- to try and locate her voice. He searched for quite some time, and finally, he gave up. He was being swindled by his own mind.

He mounted his horse and rode away, heading back to camp, where his fellow knights would be awaiting an explanation as to why She was no longer at the camp. He would have some explaining to do. He sighed, and rode west, away from the sun.

And as the wind picked back up... there came the distant sound of laughter... Soft, melodic, and soothing, like the call of a mockingbird...

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Let me tell you now, I'm open to all reviews, love, construction, flame. Go for it.

I have the intention of writing a one-shot sequel to this piece in the near future; we'll see how that goes.

Sincerely,  
The Shark Bait


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